


All I Want for Christmas

by BlakeyCake



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Christmas, Co-workers, F/M, One Shot, Secret Santa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-25
Updated: 2015-12-25
Packaged: 2018-05-09 05:06:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5526521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlakeyCake/pseuds/BlakeyCake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Emma's Secret Santa keeps giving her surprisingly thoughtful gifts, and while working on Christmas Eve she is forced to confront what that might mean.<br/>CS Modern AU - fluffy Christmas coworkers one-shot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All I Want for Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to lovelylumie for being an amazing beta!

Emma Swan hated Christmas.

Well, maybe hated was the wrong word; it was more of a strong resentment, a bitterness about the holiday cheer that had always seemed to grace everyone but her and she had long since stopped hoping ever would. So it was with grim determination that Emma found herself driving into work on December 24th, punching in they key code to let her into the abandoned offices of Mills Incorporated. She rode the elevator up to the twelfth floor, the building eerily quiet, and wished that they hadn't turned the heater off with the assumption that no one would possibly come in on Christmas Eve. Although being inside sheltered her from the snow, it did little to keep out the frigid cold, so Emma opted to keep her coat on as she sat down at her desk, rubbing her hands together in an attempt to warm them before she began typing. As she waited for her computer to boot up, she attempted to organize her desk, which was cluttered with a variety of paperclips, files, and other objects. She was shuffling some papers into a folder when she remembered the new desk organizer she had hastily shoved into a drawer. Carefully pulling it out, she felt a newfound appreciation for the functional device, and said a silent thank you to the Secret Santa who had bought it for her.

The office Secret Santa was a yearly tradition. Everyone had to participate, and for the week leading up to Christmas, it was your responsibility to buy your Santa a series of small gifts before finally giving a large gift and revealing your identity at the office Christmas party. It was a custom that Emma had always found irksome, as being the ideal Secret Santa required actually _getting to know_ your coworkers, but she had always managed to scrape by through purchasing the most generic gifts possible--scented candles, calendars, an Amazon gift card--and it wasn't like she had ever received much better anyway.

But this year, her Secret Santa had decided to go above and beyond the typically low standards, buying Emma annoyingly thoughtful gifts that somehow still fell under the price limit. On Monday, there had been a beanie and a heated teddy bear, with a note attached describing how Emma always seemed to be cold and that hopefully this would help keep her toasty. On Tuesday, a hot chocolate had been waiting on her desk in the morning, complete with whipped cream and cinnamon exactly how she liked. On Wednesday, she'd received a generous set of perfumes, lotions, and soaps, all in her preferred scent. On Thursday, a record by one of her all-time favorite bands, with an iTunes gift card stating “so you can buy more to listen to at work”. And on Friday, there had been the desk organizer, which was still personalized in that it was decorated with a multitude of swans, each of which was painted a different color.

The result of all of these gifts was that Emma was left feeling overwhelmed, guilty about her own Secret Santa (Ashley Boyd had received some cheap chocolate and a Starbucks gift card), and highly confused about who the hell would have put that much effort into her presents. David, Mary Margaret, and Ruby were her only friends at the office--her only friends at all, really--and she knew that none of them had her. So who could it be? Emma took pride in her privacy, choosing to keep almost all details about her life to herself, so even the simple gifts that she had received would have taken some serious sleuthing. The gestures touched her, but also left her vaguely uncomfortable; the idea that anyone could care that much, would try that hard to make her happy, was terrifying. She knew that her feelings--the smiles that curved her cheeks at the sight of the presents, the excited anticipation as she wondered each day what she might receive, the strange flip of her stomach when she read a note--couldn't possibly lead anywhere good, and so she shut them down, choosing to view her Santa with suspicion rather than appreciation. It was easier that way. _Still,_ she reasoned with herself, arranging pens in the swan-adorned basket, _just because I don't like my Santa, doesn't mean I can't get use out of the gifts._ Once her desk was in a semi-manageable state, Emma pulled up her latest assignment and threw herself into her work. Being busy made it a lot harder to remember the date.

~~~~~~~

Two hours and 17 pages of paperwork later, Emma’s concentration was broken by a noise. Emma strained her ears to figure out the source of the sound before suddenly realizing what it was: the ding of the elevator. Confused and annoyed that someone had interrupted her work, she tromped over to the entrance to the floor, ready to tell whoever it was to go away and that this was a private building and that she could have them arrested for trespassing and _oh no._ Fury, frustration, and a tingling in her stomach which she refused to acknowledge filled Emma at the sight of the one person who she quite possibly wanted to see the _least_ \--Killian Jones, resident playboy whose sworn duty in life seemed to be to get on Emma’s nerves.

“What are _you_ doing here?” she asked him through gritted teeth. He merely responded with a cheeky grin, walking past her into the office as he greeted her.

“Nice to see you too, love.” Emma stomped after him.

“It's Christmas Eve! Don't you have plans?” Killian turned around to face her and stepped closer to her, the inches between them radiating heat.

“I could ask the same of you,” he whispered, and Emma stepped back, his proximity making her unsteady.

“I'll have you know I _did_ have plans. David and Mary Margaret invited me to have dinner with them. But it's their first Christmas as a married couple, and I didn't want to intrude, and so I chose to catch up on some work.” Emma had no idea why she’d told him all of that. In fact, she had no idea why she'd told him anything at all. She didn't owe him any sort of explanation. But something about Killian Jones always put her on the defensive, and so here she was, babbling like an idiot.

“I chose to work as well.” Killian’s eyes softened, but the expression behind them was unreadable. Emma felt exposed as she stared into his blue eyes, as if he could see every emotion buried inside her, but continued to hold his gaze, refusing to back down.

“Well then, you better get working.”

“Yes, I suppose I should,” Killian murmured, and then gently pushed past her towards his cubicle. Emma tried to ignore the disappointment that washed over her at the loss of eye contact, following him and then crossing over one row to her own desk. Killian Jones was a distraction, but she'd be damned if she let him stop her from finishing her work.

~~~~~~~

Killian liked to sing as he worked. Sometimes it was humming, sometimes it was quiet lyrics under his breath, but either way, it was getting on Emma’s nerves.

“Hey Bon Jovi over there, think you could quiet down?” she called to him after listening to several minutes of a ridiculous vocal rendition of “Livin’ on a Prayer.”

“What's wrong, Swan? Do you find my sultry tenor distracting?” Emma rolled her eyes.

“As a matter of fact, I do. So I would shut up before I turn that ‘sultry tenor’ of yours into moans of pain.” The thought of giving Killian Jones a good punch in the face, or perhaps a nice knee to the groin, gave Emma a vindictive pleasure.

“If you want to make me moan, love, I assure you there are ways that would be much more _enjoyable_ for the both of us.”

“What would be _enjoyable_ is if I could get this work done before midnight so I can go home and get some sleep.”

“Ah, so hardworking! I do _so_ admire your dedication.”

“Yeah, it's almost as amazing as your dedication to annoying me.”

“Was that a compliment I just heard?”

“If your ultimate goal is winning the title of Most Insufferable Man Alive, then sure.”

“Ooh, Swan, you're warming up to me. I can feel it.”

“Don't let it get to your head.” Emma’s tone was scathing, but she was fighting a smile. As frustrating as he was, banter with Killian was easy, as was most of their relationship. When he had first transferred to the Boston branch of Mills Inc. from London, Killian had pursued Emma. But she had refused to give into his flirtations and he had refused to stop attempting to break down her walls, and so they settled into a routine of friendly antagonism, trading barbs at a rapid pace. Killian grated on all of Emma’s nerves. And Emma...well, Emma wasn't sure how Killian felt about her. All she knew was that right now, she had better things to do than bicker with him.

Even if it did seem a little quiet without his voice.

~~~~~~~

Emma suppressed a groan as the small blue icon appeared on her screen. She clicked on the button in order to get rid of the notification, then ignored the message it contained, adding it to the barrage of “hi”s, “hey”s, and “hello”s she'd received from Killian. Five minutes later, the blue icon reappeared. Emma typed out a response.

_Stop messaging me._

Killian responded with several pouting emojis, to which Emma could merely roll her eyes.

_I'm trying to work here._

_Oh, come on. I highly doubt you have_ that _much work to do on Christmas Eve._

Emma gritted her teeth. He was right, of course; even though she'd tried to leave herself enough work to distract for the night, her workload hadn't been that heavy to begin with (a rare holiday treat from their boss, Regina Mills), and she’d gotten most of it done in the couple hours she'd been here. Now she was mostly sifting through files, filling out information she knew she wouldn't need for months, but stalling so that she wouldn't have to go home and face her empty apartment.

 _So what would_ you _suggest I be doing?_

_Meet me outside of Regina’s office and I'll show you._

Emma searched for him over the top of her cubicle, eyes narrowed, and found him already staring at her, eyebrows raised and a conspiratorial grin on his face.

“What do you say, Swan?” He waggled his brows, and after a few seconds Emma sighed, turned off her computer, and pushed in her chair. She'd gotten enough work done for the night anyway.

Emma met Killian outside the large doors to Regina’s office.

“So what's the plan, Mr. Productivity Killer?”

“The plan,” Killian turned around, jiggling the door handle, “is to have some fun.” With a flourish of his hands, he pushed open the giant marble doors and strolled casually into Regina’s office.

“Jones,” Emma hissed, looking anxiously around despite the fact she knew they were the only ones here. “What are you _doing_?!”

“Oh, relax, Swan,” he responded flippantly. “She’ll never know we were here.” With a reluctance only outweighed by her overwhelming curiosity, Emma stepped into the room, prompting a grin from Killian. The office was huge, far bigger than any one of their cubicles, with a large mahogany desk as well as a loveseat and a TV. The entire back wall was glass, providing an incredible view of the city. Emma gasped at the lights twinkling in the wide expanse below her, every house a small speck that stretched into the horizon. “And now,” Emma turned to see Killian rummaging through a mini fridge. He emerged with two bottles of eggnog and rum. “We drink.” She wasn't sure exactly what she felt in that moment--perhaps it was loneliness, or the glint in his eye, or the simple fact that they were both spending Christmas Eve working and the mutual understanding that granted them--but whatever she saw in him, it was enough for her to reach to his outstretched hand and accept the glass he offered.

~~~~~~~

Emma wasn't sure how long it had been or how much she’d had to drink, but whatever it was had Killian sprawled out across the loveseat while Emma sat propped up on the desk as the two engaged in an intense game of Truth or Dare. So far, they'd kept the subjects light, a welcome distraction from their current circumstances.

Emma was currently arguing the flaws of Captain Hook as a villain as she finished a truth about her opinions on the movie Peter Pan, which had sparked no small amount of outrage from her companion.

“He's the most tragic character in the movie! He's a poor man, suffering terrible post-traumatic stress disorder from an injury, who's forced to deal with a smarmy arse every day. Can you blame him for being a little murderous?”

“Yes, well, I know from experience how _terrible_ it can be to deal with an arrogant British guy,” Emma retorted. “Now truth or dare?” Killian pretended to ponder the question, stroking his chin in mock seriousness.

“I'll take a dare, love.” Emma tapped her chin, pretending to think as well, before a sly grin spread across her face.

“I dare you to pretend to be Regina.” Killian’s brows shot up in surprise before he narrowed his eyes in a smirk.

“Mocking the boss in her own office? Bold choice, Swan.”

“Is that you backing down?”

“Of course not. I do love a good challenge.” He winked at her before standing up and walking behind the desk, where he sat down in Regina’s large black chair. “Is that paperwork done?” Killian folded his hands in front of him and spoke in a high-pitched voice, his tone mockingly authoritative. “Because I'm sure you understand the importance of _timeliness_ , Miss Swan.” Emma snorted at his impression.

“Your American accent is _awful_.”

“And--oh, Robin! I mean, Mr. Locksley. Yes, er, I'll need to speak to you in my office. _Privately._ Strictly business matters, of course.” Killian batted his lashes and waggled his eyebrows so ridiculously that Emma couldn't help but laugh, amused by his fake seduction. Although when he bit his lip and lowered his voice a few octaves, Emma couldn't ignore the nervous flip-flop of her stomach.

“Truth or dare?”

“Truth.” Emma hoped her voice sounded more firm than she felt.

“What's your favorite thing about Christmas?” Emma laughed mirthlessly, bitterness creeping into her tone.

“I'm not exactly the biggest fan of the holiday.” Killian simply stared at her, his eyes filled with both questions and a challenge. “The jacking up of store prices, the annoying music, the ‘holiday cheer,’” Emma crinkled her nose. “It's all just a bit tacky, don't you think? And fake. Like, everyone pretends to love each other for a few weeks, and then after that they all go back to fighting and forgetting to call and talking behind each other's backs.”

“There must be _something_ you like,” Killian’s tone was quiet but prodding.

“I guess...I like the lights.” Emma’s voice trailed off as she gazed out the window, staring out over the city. “They make everything seem so pretty, at least for a little while. Kind of...magical, almost.” Emma’s tone was wistful, and a lump rose in her throat as she thought of the countless years she’d spent wishing for some magic, the nights wasted dreaming of a family that might come for her or a gift that might be waiting under the tree. Tears burned behind her eyes as she remembered the crying that had always followed, the inevitable disappointment that Christmas had always brought. _This is why I’m better off alone_ , she reminded herself. _So that I can't get hurt._ Standing up from the desk, she plopped down on the loveseat before she turned back to Killian, stony-faced.

“Truth or dare?”

“Truth.” His voice was quiet, and there was some emotion lurking behind his blue eyes that Emma couldn't quite understand.

“What's the best present you've ever gotten?” Emma wasn't sure why she’d asked the question; perhaps out of curiosity, perhaps out of masochistic self-pity. But Killian simply smiled, eyes glimmering at her as he began to speak.

“A Han Solo action figure.” Emma raised her eyebrows at him, a teasing remark at the ready, but he continued talking. “I was 10. My brother had been trying to take care of us both after my father left, and we were barely getting by. All I’d talked about for months was Star Wars--and all I ever wanted was that one damn toy. So Liam scrounged around, skipped a few meals, and finally saved up enough to buy it for me for Christmas. It was all I played with for a year.”  He stood up from Regina’s chair and Emma stared at him in shock, a newfound appreciation for his plight entering her mind. She'd had no idea of his rough childhood, had never had the slightest inkling that he’d been abandoned by his dad or raised by his brother. An unexpected warmth surged through her at his honesty, and she wondered what other surprises were hiding inside of Killian Jones.

“A Cabbage Patch Doll.” The words blurted out of Emma’s mouth of their own volition, and Killian turned to her, confused. “It was all I ever wanted for Christmas. I asked for it every day for years, wrote a million letters to Santa. At every foster home I went to, I’d get a little more hopeful, see other kids get one and think that maybe, but I-” she looked down at her lap, wringing her hands as her voice dropped in volume. “I never got one.” She continued to stare at her hands as Killian walked around the couch and sat down next to her. He placed his hand over hers, and Emma slowly tilted her head up to his, afraid to see what she might find in his gaze. Her breath caught in her throat as their eyes met, his blue depths filled with a tender care and a deep understanding that she could never have anticipated. A chiming sounded in the distance, and Emma and Killian both looked up to the clock hanging on the wall to see that the hands had just struck midnight.

“Merry Christmas, Swan,” he murmured, his voice low, and Emma was transfixed by his gaze. “Truth or dare?”

“Dare.” Emma’s voice was barely a whisper as she spoke the word.

“I dare you to kiss me.” Emma quirked an eyebrow at him, searching his eyes for a bluff.

“Please, you couldn't handle it.”

“Perhaps you're the one who couldn't handle it.” And Emma was never one to back down from a challenge, so she closed the distance between them, gathering his collar in both fists and pulling him closer. She mashed her lips to his, and though she was immediately met with surprise he quickly caught up, matching her fiery pace and fusing his mouth with her own. His tongue flicked against her lips and she opened her mouth in response, his hot breath filling her as their tongues danced. He tasted like peppermint and rum, altogether a pleasant combination, and she twisted her fingers through his hair, his dark scruff rubbing against her cheek. When she finally came up for air, the enormity of what she had just done hit her like a pound of bricks. The tiny loveseat suddenly seemed far too small for the two of them. “That was-” Killian whispered, his expression awestruck, but Emma quickly interrupted.

“A one-time thing.” She pulled away from him and hopped up, eyes darting around in search of the nearest exit. Devastated confusion furrowed in Killian’s forehead, but Emma was unable to meet his gaze, instead slipping out the door and grabbing her purse in order to flee the building. She had let down her carefully constructed walls, but it had only been a momentary lapse in judgment--she wouldn't let it happen again.

Meanwhile, Killian was left reeling in Regina’s office, utterly stunned from the events of the night. He brought his fingers to his lips, remembering the heavenly figure who had just been pressed against them, and knew he was in trouble.

~~~~~~~

The office Christmas party was three days later. Emma had been anticipating it with mounting dread, desperate to avoid confrontation with the man with whom she had shared her midnight rendezvous. She had been dodging her friends’ calls, shrugging off Mary Margaret and David’s holiday wishes and providing Ruby with only the barest of details, never referring to Killian by name or even specifying that her mystery kisser had been someone from work. She knew if she shared more, they would press her for information and ask her questions that she didn't know the answers to--because the truth was she had no idea what her feelings were towards Killian Jones. A week ago, she had hated him, would have laughed in the face of anyone proclaiming him to be more than an arrogant jerk. But now...well, now he had shown her that he cared, had given her company on the loneliest night of her year, had shared a side of himself that Emma had never seen before. And somehow, through all that charm and bravado and innuendo, he had gotten her to open up as well. He had tried to call, must have found her number in the roster, but after picking up and promptly hanging up once, she had ignored all his messages, terror seizing her each time the phone rang. Emma glanced at the clock, grimacing as the hands ticked closer to seven. Regina would have her head if she missed this party, so with a heavy sigh she finished putting on her earrings and strapped on her black heels. (She hadn't worn her favorite red dress or spent extra time on her hair for Killian’s sake. No, of course not.)

She pulled up to Regina’s house a few minutes later, handing her keys to the valet as she stepped out of her yellow bug. Mills Manor was a sprawling mansion, with extensive gardens and more foyers and coatrooms than anyone could possibly need. Taking a deep breath, Emma steeled herself and walked inside, and was immediately greeted by an onslaught of coworkers. She forced herself to smile through pleasantries and small talk, mingling through the crowd and placing her Secret Santa gift (Ashley was receiving a festive mug with some empty picture frames) on the marked table. Mary Margaret and David found her by the kitchen and immediately embraced her, inquiring into her holiday and chastising her for refusing to come to their house.

“You know we love having you!” Mary Margaret reprimanded, her tone reproachful but still incredibly warm.

“You're like a sister to us,” David added. Emma smiled, grateful for their friendship.

“I love you guys too, really. I just needed to spend the day alone.” Mary Margaret frowned at her, but conceded.

“Fine. But you _have_ to come over this week. We still have to give you our presents!” Emma promised them she’d come before Ruby appeared, drink in hand and wearing a short dress that left very little to the imagination.

“Emma!” She exclaimed before pulling her into a hug, and Emma greeted her in return.

“Hey, Rubs. You do know this is a _work_ party, right?” Ruby frowned.

“Oh, I know, but come _on._ Just because it's for work, doesn't mean I can't have a little fun too.” A man whistled at her from the staircase, and she winked in his direction while Emma stared at him in distaste. “Let loose a little! God, you may have been kissed the other night, but tonight we are getting you _laid.”_

“Ruby!” Emma hissed, pulling her off to a hopefully less crowded area. “Someone could hear you!”

“So what if they do?” Ruby pursed her lips, challenge clear on her face, and Emma simply rolled her eyes.

“Alright, fine. Say I _were_ to sleep with someone here. Who would it even be?” Ruby grinned, and Emma squirmed uncomfortably as her friend scanned the crowd.

“Hmm, let's see...there's Walsh, but he's kind of ape-y...August, but he's got that whole annoying hipster writer thing going on...oh, _I know.”_ She turned back to Emma, her expression triumphant. “Killian Jones. Mills Inc.’s most eligible bachelor and some _delicious_ eye candy. Plus you two have been giving each other yearning looks for years, so there's that.” Emma's eyes widened as she struggled to form a response.

“Killian? I-he doesn't-I don't _yearn._ We can't even stand each other.” Ruby’s eyes twinkled mischievously.

“Well, he can certainly stand you. And no matter what you say, you can do a lot more than stand him as well.” Emma crossed her arms over her chest defensively.

“Well, then you're wrong. I do not like Killian Jones, and there's no way in hell I'm sleeping with him.”

“Okay, fine, fine,” Ruby backed down, and Emma prayed she hadn't seen through her facade. “Your loss! Whatever. We can talk about _my_ prospects for the evening instead,” Ruby clapped her hands together as she surveyed the room once again, her eyes zeroing in on one man in particular. “I think Graham was my Secret Santa, and if all goes my way, then his last present to me is going to involve Chardonnay and a bedroom.” Emma laughed as Ruby pulled her over to the gift table, where she eagerly searched for the present with her name. “See you later!” she called over her shoulder as she tore open her wrapping and strutted towards Graham, and Emma chuckled at her friend’s antics. Deciding she could pick up her own present while she was already here, Emma scanned the table for a labelled box, eventually finding a medium-sized one towards the back. Grabbing it, she walked a few feet away before peeling off the wrapping paper. Her breath caught in her throat, and suddenly she was pushing her way through the crowd, searching for one particular face she needed to see. She found him outside, and a chill washed over her from the cool night air.

“You bought me a Cabbage Patch Kid.” Emma stared up at Killian, Christmas lights twinkling above his head.

“Aye.” He stared back at her seriously, and Emma was suddenly overwhelmed with emotion. This man had listened, had been listening long before the night they kissed, had bought her a week’s worth of careful presents. And then he had not only remembered but had bought her the gift she’d always dreamed of, had made a gesture so stupidly kind she wanted to laugh or cry or both. She was amazed by his care, by his wit, by the smooth line of his jaw, and she reached up to trace it before bringing her lips to his. The kiss was soft and sweet, chaste and pure where their first had been passionate and hard, and Emma reveled in his presence and the tenderness he exhibited. His eyes shone when they broke apart, their foreheads touching. The corners of his lips turned up in a smile and he spoke, his words soft as his thumb stroked her cheek.

“So, more than just a one-time thing, I hope?”

Emma gave him the same response that she would give him a year later, when he got down on one knee in front of a brightly lit Christmas tree.

“Yes.”


End file.
